The Center

Chapter 12 - "I swear, by my life and my love of it,

Jackson helps me up the mountain stairs. At the clinic, he leaves me in the horrible strip-search room. I climb up on the table again. The hard surface brings chills, but my stomach isn't retching anymore. My head hurts, but I'm glad. No one likes being sick, but today it could be the thing that makes them drop a helicopter into this crazy place and airlift me out.

The nurse comes in and she's not smiling.

I sit up, happy until she tells me the diagnosis. When the words first came out of her mouth, I didn't notice. I mean, I saw her chapped lips move but it didn't fully connect. The small hair on her chin poked up when she bit her lip. Just when I thought life couldn't suck one more ounce, the word "pregnant" registers in my brain.

I should have known. All the signs were there. All the clues, but I still sit here shocked, with my mouth hanging open like a jerk.

"You're pregnant." The nurse repeats.

In my head, I do the math.

One. Unprotected sex.

Two. Missed period, blamed on nerves.

Three. Vomiting on the first cute guy I meet after said unprotected sex.

"How can that be?" I say, even though I know the one, two, and three.

"Don't be naive." The nurse admonishes me.

I pick at the vinyl. I did know. I did. "Will they send me home?"

"You're not the first pregnant teen we've had here." She shakes her head like I'm stupid or something.

I want to slug her. But I continue to pick at the bench.

Pregnant.

Seriously?

If I am perfectly honest, I had hoped my mom was right. I secretly signed up for this mess because I thought I could start over. Erase my past. Become someone different. Better. But now some dumb, jerk's fetus has followed me into this hell hole and I'm supposed to deal with it?

"The doctor comes up once a month," she turns to me. "You have a right to talk to him about your options."

"Options?"

She ignores me and hands me a paper lunch bag. "Keep these with you to help with the nausea."

The bag contains saltine crackers and ginger snaps.

"These are prenatal vitamins. I recommend you take them before you go to bed given the degree of your morning sickness."

I take the thick bottle.

"You can go to class now."

I stand up.

"Don't forget to drink a lot of water."

I leave the clinic in the stupid boots, in this stupid place wanting to run away more than ever. I kick at the snow.

According to the schedule, I should go to the Ash building for Chemistry.

Screw them.

Give me a Mark.

It's almost noon and I haven't showered. I storm back to the dorm. Stupid, freaking luck. My entire plan was to escape this place and now I'm more trapped than ever. Trapped in a forever way. Stuck with a diagnosis that will be with me for life.

Upstairs in the bathroom, I survey the room. Over the sink, a small metal plate makes a poor mirror, but it's just as well, I look disgusting. A tall wooden shelve holds perfectly folded towels. I take a couple and step into the open shower area. The room is floor-to-ceiling tile. Ten shower heads protrude from evenly placed spots on the wall. Below them a knob for hot and cold water, which has something hanging from it. I shed the ugly uniform I'd slept in and shove it in the flap labeled "Laundry Bin." With a towel wrapped around my naked body, I step inside the room trying not to think about how many other disgusting feet have walked here.

The item hanging from the faucet is soap with a piece of rope imbedded in the middle of it. On the floor, a skinny bottle of cheap shampoo and conditioner wait for me to use. Great. Frizzy hair, here I come. I never thought I could miss a 10 ounce bottle of smoothing cream as much as I did the one abandoned at Reagan National Airport.

I turn on the water. The Shackle beeps at me as soon as I remove it from my ankle. There's no way I can finish my shower without setting off the alarm. They're just going to have to assume I'm dead as I scrub my feet and legs before I reattach the leather strap to my wet ankle. When I'm done, I wrap the small towel around my body and another around my head. As I turn to leave, Rowena blocks the way.

Creeper.

"How long were you standing there?"

"Your alarm went off."

Not a direct answer to my question.

She continues, "The Shackle is waterproof. You can shower with it on. Most people leave it on until they finish showering, then remove it to ensure they abide by their 30 second limitation. No reprimand this time, but going forward you will get a mark whenever you violate the rule."

"Fine," I say with intended sarcasm and push past her. She's the least of my worries. She and her stupid Marks can bite me.